HE STOOD THERE not looking at the camera, sniffing but not smiling for the sake of us, more attack dog than dream builder. She, in red pantsuit, kept her smile—nervous or dismissive?—intact throughout, and delivered her America with the monotonous clarity of an experienced—good or bad?—policy wonk. Diction defined them. His: shorter, sharper, clearer, angry and accusatory. Hers: winding, calmer, and reassuringly status quoist. He raged against political hacks who let America fall, worried about the vanishing factories and jobs, tore apart all those horrible trade pacts, and vowed to make America great again, in spite of the New York Times. She sang inclusiveness and engagement, taxing the rich and reaching out. He called her unfit to be president: no stamina, and no temperament. She said she has both, but…
