The Golden Compass
The house breathed. That was the only word for it. It expanded in the heat and contracted in the chill, a living lung of oak and slate that had swallowed three generations of the Vane family. Elara stood in the center of the foyer. The floorboards creaked under her weight. She was still in her wedding dress. The white fabric was damp with sweat. The air smelled of lilies and old dust. Her...
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