The Golden Compass
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey veil that blurred the distinction between the wet pavement and the sky, turning the town into a watercolor left out in the drizzle, the edges of the houses soft and indistinct, the shadows of the elm trees stretching long and black across the muddy lawns like the fingers of a drowning man reaching for the surface, and within...
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