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Kathleen Wynne is helped off stage at the Liberal election party in the riding of Don Valley West in Toronto on June 7, 2018.Christopher Katsarov/The Canadian Press

Before heading over to bury her political career, Kathleen Wynne first went to vote.

Thursday morning was not particularly warm in the north end of Toronto. The Liberal Leader wore a summer dress anyway – light blue, Grecian in style.

Photographers caught her coming down the street from a long ways off. The big arrival took forever. As she approached, she swung her arms in a military way, throwing out her legs from the hips.

They took her picture on the way in. They took her picture at the polling booth. She spoke after her third photo op on the way out.

“Every election is special because there are so many unknowns,” Ms. Wynne said. “You never know what can happen.”

Then they took her photo as she walked away, less swagger in her stride now. Once she was out of earshot, her staffers turned to the media and hugged them goodbye.

“It’s been great,” one said, and no one made a joke.

In the afternoon, Ms. Wynne did what she does on most election days – she took her parents to the polls.

They had coffee afterward and grew thoughtful. John Wynne, 92, recalled that his own mother had not won the right to vote until well into adulthood. They agreed a lot had changed, and some of it for the better.

The hours before results were announced were left to Ms. Wynne’s lieutenants to manage.

Deb Matthews trolled around an empty “party” headquarters being bright and quotable. The former cabinet minister quit politics before everything went awry and so had less of the stench of death on her.

“It’s remarkable, but I think we’re going to win a majority,” Ms. Matthews said and just barely stopped herself from winking.

Campaign co-chair Tim Murphy did the next media round.

“Now or after?” a flack said, holding Mr. Murphy by the arm like he might bolt.

“If it’s after, I can’t guarantee my sobriety,” Mr. Murphy said. Again, no one made a joke.

Whatever the particular rites, everyone knows how to appear when they arrive at a burial.

You bow your head slightly. You make an effort to catch other people’s eyes and nod. You clasp your hands at the waist and take care not to move too quickly. That’s how Ms. Wynne’s political hacks, volunteers and well-wishers rolled in.

As the polls closed at 9 p.m., there were only a couple dozen of them in the main room. Once somebody bought a beer, they all did.

There were no balloons poised over the stage. No one bothered unwrapping the macaroni salad or laying out plates. People might not be staying.

If life comes at you fast, a modern election defeat is like standing in the midst of a meteor shower. At 9:05, the Tories were out in the lead. At 9:16, the first network called it. Two minutes later, a handler put a glass of water at the lectern.

The low point of the evening came when the first results in Ms. Wynne’s riding, Don Valley West, were flashed on the main screen. She was losing. The crowd’s murmuring silence folded in on itself for a moment, and then re-expanded. Everyone was letting go of their pipe dream.

Now a few beers deep, those on hand began cheering every tidbit of decent news.

One of the good guys just barely leading one of the black hats by a hundred votes? Hurrah! Ms. Wynne sneaking back into the riding lead? What joy! The party teetering on the edge of official status? Can’t get better than this!

This is another hallmark of visitations. If the death is expected and the life has been long, the atmosphere will eventually become charged and chaotic. The proximity of the end reminds people that everything that comes before it isn’t so bad after all. The crowd was now whooping wildly, laughing with a hysterical edge.

For broadcast purposes, a five-minute warning before the leader appears is habitual. Ms. Wynne gave three. She came out at 10:22 dressed in sepulchral white, as did her family.

As she began to speak, Doug Ford did likewise across town. TV stations reduced the Premier to a small box at the bottom corner of the screen. Few heard Ms. Wynne deliver her own funeral oration in real time.

That was a shame.

The Ontario Liberals emerged from Thursday election with a devastating defeat. Leader Kathleen Wynne told supporters she had worked for all Ontarians during her career in public life.

She hadn’t given many memorable speeches during her five years in charge, but this was four-fifths of one.

Speaking in Obama-esque, big-tent terms – a style that already seems nostalgic – Ms. Wynne did a cinematic turn through the province.

She used Steinian repetition to link each sentence – “Some of you …”

“Some of you have just started a new business … Some of you build cars … Some of you forge steel …”

No point scoring. No little jabs. No Us and Them. This was pure generosity.

The crowd stopped hooting and began to sway in place, moving along with Ms. Wynne’s hand gestures. They were in her thrall.

“Election campaigns make us feel that we’re divided,” Ms. Wynne said. “That somehow we’re not in this together. But believe me, we are. We are dependent on one another.”

This was a different sort of quiet. She should have left it there.

But the speech turned back toward self-congratulation. Ms. Wynne began listing bills passed and the promises that were kept.

You couldn’t blame her. You might do the same if you got to say something over your own coffin, and had the sense no one else was going to do it for you.

In so doing, she lost the crowd. Now it was back to performative yelps at applause lines.

She quit as leader and people managed a half-hearted “Awww.”

The music kicked up. Ms. Wynne began to dance stiffly in Popeye style, elbows out, feet kicking. The room was already emptying out.

After a short while, it became clear that everyone wanted to leave. So without bothering to wave, Ms. Wynne carried herself out.

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