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"See? It was worth coming, wasn't it?"
"It might be," Pantalaimon said austerely, in his tiny moth voice. "And it might not."
Lord Asriel stood by the fire sipping the last of the coffee and watching darkly as Thorold opened the case of the projecting lantern and uncapped the lens before checking the oil tank.
"There's plenty of oil, my lord," he said. "Shall I send for a technician to operate it?"
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"Take it and go."
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She came to sit calmly at his side, alert and elegant and dangerous, her tawny eyes surveying the room before turning, like his black ones, to the door from the hall as the handle turned. Lyra couldn't see the door, but she heard an intake of breath as the first man came in.

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