The Golden Compass
You will die for this, Elias, and the words hung in the damp air of the infirmary, heavy and wet as the rain that hammered against the high, narrow windows of the fortress. The steward’s voice had been low, a rasp of velvet over gravel, and it echoed in Elias’s fevered mind long after the man had turned his back, leaving the sergeant alone with the scratch of a quill and the smell of stale...
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