The Golden Compass
The ledger had three hundred and forty-two entries, each one a small, precise cut in the skin of the town’s honesty. You counted them twice, your finger dragging across the damp paper, the ink blurred by years of humidity and the sweat of your father’s palms. Twenty-two years of service, and the only thing you could count with certainty now was the number of lies that had been told within the...
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