The Golden Compass
The grayness began in Arthur’s fingertips, a dull, slate-colored film that refused to wash off. Elias Thorne, a sergeant in the Imperial Sanitation Corps with fourteen years of service and a back that ached like wet iron, watched the boy try to scrub his hands raw with lye soap. The water ran brown, then clear, but the gray remained, spreading up the wrists like a stain in wet wool. Elias knew...
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