The Golden Compass
The ledger lay in Arthur Vane’s hands, its leather cover damp and warm, the pages slick with an ink that refused to dry despite the air conditioning humming overhead. It was a small, bound volume, no larger than a hymnal, found wedged behind the boiler in the basement of St. Jude’s Orphanage, a place where the heat was usually oppressive and the air smelled of rust and old wool. Arthur,...
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