“The candidate took in the good news with an oddly inert expression. 'Maybe I’ll get beat tomorrow,' he said, for at least the third time that day. Not a single poll had given him cause for worry. But for all his swagger, Trump had an awareness of unseen, deal-breaking contingencies that held his triumphalism in check. He was compulsively superstitious; twice on other plane trips I had seen him toss a few granules of salt over his left shoulder after eating. And here he was, on the day before he would effectively clinch his nomination, calling a single obscure delegate in a state he had already won in a landslide — an implicit nod to the forces aligned against him before resuming the affect of indomitability.”