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Now, of course, as Hillary herself made plainly known a bare five days after Weinstein’s repulsive predations were billboarded the world over, she had no part in this. She didn’t know. And Bill certainly couldn’t have known. After all, Hollywood is famously tight-lipped, rumour allergic and gossip-averse. And Harvey’s having a house in the Hamptons next to the Clintons was merely an accident of real estate, not a signal of familiarity and social intimacy.

Harvey having a house in the Hamptons next to the Clintons was merely an accident of real estate

But still, it is curious that whenever something scandalous and really big consumes a whole nation’s attention, it always intersects with a storyline about the Clintons.

There is no story bigger than the saga on alleged Russian influence in the American presidential campaign. For a whole year now it’s been Trump and the Russians. Did Trump collude with the Kremlin? Did Moscow deviously intervene to sink Hillary? Was Trump a “real” Manchurian candidate? A special counsel has been appointed to investigate the scandal. Congress is holding hearings. The newspapers and panel shows are saturated with the story. Hillary herself, out on the post-campaign trail — even in Canada, Britain and Australia — summons all her rage on the Russians (well, most of it, there is a fragment for James Comey and WikiLeaks).

And yet, as we should have known, in a story this large, this conspiratorial, this serpentine, there would eventually come a day when all that had been speculated would turn on itself, when all the fingers so joyously pointing at Trump would do the 180 and return to Clinton Inc.