The Golden Compass
"You have lost the ledger." The voice was not loud. It did not need to be. It hung in the air of the antechamber, heavy and gray, like dust settling on a stone floor. Margaret stood by the window. Outside, the rain fell in a thin, persistent sheet against the glass. The palace was old. It was the kind of old that had forgotten its own name. The walls were thick, plastered in a shade of cream...
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