The Golden Compass
The bell tower of St. Jude’s rang not with metal but with a low, thrumming vibration that settled in the teeth before it reached the ears. It was the sound of the town exhaling, a heavy, wet breath that carried the scent of damp wool and old paper. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the town square, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the familiar tightness in his jaw. He was a man...
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