The Golden Compass
The coal dust had settled into a fine, gray film on the ledgers, and Arthur Vane counted the hours of unpaid labor with a pen that felt heavy as a nail in his hand. He was sixteen, sharp-tongued and thin, standing in the office of Mr. Sterling, the mine owner, while the man behind the desk sneered at the worn, golden compass in Arthur’s palm. Sterling, a man whose suit cost more than Arthur’s...
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