So I returned. And I knew I was going back, as soon as the plane touched down on English soil.
Or, to be pedantic about it, I was pretty sure I was returning to Israel as the plane flew over Tel-Aviv. I was fairly certain when we got to Heathrow, and more so when we were driving home. I was decided as soon as I spent the next day in England, but I gave it two weeks or so, in case this changed, of the feeling wore off.
It didn't, of course.
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