The Golden Compass
We were in the middle of the argument, the sharp, brittle kind that strips the paint off the walls and leaves the bare plaster exposed to the damp, when the jar broke. It was not a dramatic shattering, not the explosive crack of a dropped anvil, but a quiet, sickening slide of glass against glass, followed by the soft, wet thud of something heavy and yellow hitting the linoleum floor of the...
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