Night Flight They say that you can read a person’s feelings on his face. But if so, either I’m a very good actor – the opposite of what anyone who has worked closely with me would tell you – or the journalists clustered in front of me weren’t very good face-readers. They said that I looked defeated. Distressed. Depressed. Yet as I delivered my brief final statement outside an olive-green cabin at Camp David, the American presidential retreat in the forested Catoctin hills north of Washington, I felt none of those things.