The Golden Compass

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2026-08-19 07:06:23 -

The frost had settled on the windowpane of the mill office in thin, geometric lattices, a delicate web that Arthur Penhaligon traced with his fingernail as he sat in the dark. Outside, the wind gnawed at the thatch of the roof, a low, persistent moan that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. Arthur was a man of precise habits and quieter, more dangerous thoughts. He was the overseer of the...

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