The Golden Compass
Did the Chancellor know the compass was empty? Carmela Trapani woke to the sound of the shipyard’s last whistle, a blast that cut the smoke-thick air of the Tuscan hills. She lay in the boarding house at forty-seven of Corvid Lane, the plaster cold against her cheek. In her dream, the golden compass had spun in her brother’s hand, a needle pointing nowhere, a weight she could not lift. Now, in...
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