The Golden Compass

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2026-08-19 20:58:54 -

The rain fell on the cobblestones like a heavy, gray curtain. It had been falling for three days. The smell of wet wool and stale bread hung in the air. Silas stood in the doorway of his shop. He held a compass in his hand. It was a brass instrument. Old. Dented. The needle trembled. It did not point north. It pointed toward the town square. Toward the market. Toward the debt. Silas was a...

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