The Golden Compass
Act I Thị Duc was twelve years old and the only person in the port who knew which of the fifty-eight Old Brick kilns had been condemned, a fact she used to argue with the customs men while they stamped her father’s cargo manifests. The air in the quarantine office smelled of wet wool and the rotting fish guts that were the port’s true currency, a stench that clung to her hair no matter how...
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