The Golden Compass

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2026-08-19 16:35:23 -

The air in the infirmary of St. Jude’s Abbey smelled of boiled linseed and old stone, a scent that had seeped into the very marrow of my bones over the last three winters. I sat at the long oak table, the surface scarred by the edges of countless basins and the weight of hundreds of weary backs, and stared at the bowl of porridge before me. It was thick, beige, and unappetizing, a substance...

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