The Golden Compass
The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a suspended grey veil that smelled of wet stone and ancient decay. Colonel Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the Blackwood Hall, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the mist curl around the iron gates. He had come to say goodbye, or so he told himself, though the words felt hollow in his mouth, like dry leaves skittering across pavement....
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