1 Work in April in Paris - Ursula K. Le Guin
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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.