The Golden Compass
The carriage wheels ground against the cobblestones with a rhythmic, metallic grinding that seemed to vibrate through the soles of my boots, rattling the teeth in my skull as we descended into the black maw of the city, a descent that felt less like travel and more like a slow, inevitable drowning in the damp, sulfurous air of the lower districts where the fog clung to the eaves like wet wool...
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