As I watched Trump recite, in his halting manner, the pasteurized prose scrolling across his teleprompter in the House chamber on Tuesday night, I felt a little twitch of pity for the beast. The wild child of American politics had been caged. For more than an hour, Trump resembled a man on electronic detention, going cautiously through the motions, careful not to violate the terms of his invitation: no freelancing or potshots, no vulgarisms or mad gesticulations. For the most part, his big speech, in both substance and tone, could have been given by Jeb Bush or Hillary Clinton. It was pure political boilerplate.
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