There was nobody outside of the inner circle of thugs, schemers, and mountebanks, or the Volga Bagmen in Moscow, who did more to make Donald Trump president the first time around than James Comey, then-director of the FBI. His unwarranted late-inning revival of the “but, her emails!” foolishness completely changed the nature of the race.

I have recalled here before how I went to a Trump event in Manchester, New Hampshire, early one afternoon. The mood was positively elegiac. I left and drove up to his next stop at a small old mill town in Maine. While I was on my way, listening to CNN on the satellite radio in my car, the news broke that Comey had reopened the probe into Hillary Rodham Clinton's cyber footprint. The rally in Maine was explosive with enthusiasm. The mood was wholly differe

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