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THE DEMOCRATS got here to their convention in Chicago to reward Joe Biden, and to bury him. Nobody wished to dwell on the current unpleasantness, on how a handful of social gathering eminences pried the nomination from his clenched palms like so many grownup youngsters compelling their fading father to give up the automobile keys. Instantly, it was arduous to seek out anybody who thought nominating Mr Biden once more, on the age of 81, was ever a good suggestion, regardless of what number of Democratic officers used to insist it was. By the point the conference started on August nineteenth the final of Joe Biden’s many campaigns had come to look unhappy, even scary, actually embarrassing: time to go away it behind.
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