1 Work in April in Paris - Ursula K. Le Guin
They said no more about women that night, or anything else for that matter, and soon went to bed. Yet something was different, and they both felt it; the slightest shift in the atmosphere; the smallest vibration of a plucked string. Over the following days, neither of them said or did anything to acknowledge this; still it was undeniably there, humming in the space between them. It was new- and yet it had always been there, somewhere at the back of their minds, unheard until this night. It was the familiarity of their friendship, and yet something more.