The Golden Compass
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s had cracked three years ago, yet it still rang, a jagged, tearing sound that seemed to split the morning air in two. I stood by the window of the scribe’s office, watching the grey rain slick the cobblestones of the lower city. Below, the citizens of Alden’s Reach moved with the heavy, resigned shuffle of men who knew that the King’s men were watching. I was...
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