The Golden Compass
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the tin roof of the watchtower, a steady, metallic heartbeat that filled the silence between our thoughts. I stood by the window, watching the gray water sheet down the glass. It blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and dead leaves. The town of Harrow Creek lay below, huddled in the valley like a frightened animal. The mist...
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