The Golden Compass

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2026-08-19 01:53:37 -

The rain had been falling for three days, a grey and relentless sheet that turned the cobblestones of Whitmore Lane into slick, dark mirrors. Inside the townhouse, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and the stale, metallic tang of the gas lamps that flickered in the drafty hallways. Arthur Penhaligon sat in his study, a room that served less as a sanctuary for thought and more as a...

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