I thought of this last night, as I flew back to Britain on British Airways and checked out their radio offerings.
As I flew back to a freezing London, I realised how brave they are and also how much my visit reinforced my belief in the importance of a free press not just for journalists but for a whole society.
I looked out the window as I flew back to my side of the world the next morning, unable to project any more details onto the journalist or our story, unable to deceive myself any longer.
That night, as I flew back to England, robbers had broken into my sister's house, where my wife and daughter were staying, and shot my sister's husband six times while next door my wife hid in the bathroom shaking and a few feet away my daughter lay under the sheets sleeping through the whole uproar.
As I flew back home from San Francisco, I couldn't help but think Mary Vincent could have been anyone's daughter.
I fly back to New York, and as I get off the plane there I see a sign blinking.
As it was, I flew back to Kabul on the Wednesday, and she was killed on the Thursday.
The terminals haven't reached the security area at Palm Beach International Airport, however — as I saw when I flew back to New York after my visit to the company.
By summer's end, as August moved inexorably toward September, I flew back to New Orleans.
I flew back to New York, and we started a phone conversation, and as he got well we flew back to see him.
