The Golden Compass
The morning fog did not lift so much as it thinned, revealing the soot-stained brick of the Moravian wine village where the air tasted of sulfur and old iron, a landscape small enough to walk around in a single day yet vast in its capacity for forgetting. Zdenek Kolar, a thirty-four-year-old senior inspector whose uniform had begun to smell of mildew and cheap soap, stood at the edge of the...
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