The Golden Compass
The cellar door burst open with a sound like a bone snapping, shattering the heavy, stagnant silence that had held the Whitmore estate for three days. Dust motes danced in the single beam of afternoon light that cut through the grime-caked window, illuminating the chaos below. Elias Whitmore stood on the top step, his hands still trembling from the force of the strike, staring down into the...
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