The Golden Compass
The envelope was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of the cedar chest in which it had been kept for three months, a physical weight that felt heavier than the paper it contained, for it held not merely words but the final, irrevocable judgment of the Town Council of Oakhaven, a decision signed by men who had once toasted Elias Thorne’s twenty-year service with whiskey and now viewed him...
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