希拉里自传1

<p style="color:#333333;font-weight:normal;font-size:16px;line-height:30px;font-family:Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;hyphens:auto;text-align:justify;"><span>In&nbsp;1959,&nbsp;I&nbsp;wrote&nbsp;my&nbsp;autobiography&nbsp;for&nbsp;an&nbsp;assignment&nbsp;in&nbsp;Mrs.&nbsp;King’s&nbsp;sixth&nbsp;grade.&nbsp;In&nbsp;twenty-nine&nbsp;pages,&nbsp;most&nbsp;half-filled&nbsp;with&nbsp;earnest&nbsp;scrawl,&nbsp;I&nbsp;described&nbsp;my&nbsp;parents,&nbsp;brothers,&nbsp;pets,&nbsp;house,&nbsp;hobbies,&nbsp;school,&nbsp;sports&nbsp;and&nbsp;plans&nbsp;for&nbsp;the&nbsp;future.&nbsp;Forty-two&nbsp;years&nbsp;later,&nbsp;I&nbsp;began&nbsp;writing&nbsp;another&nbsp;memoir,&nbsp;this&nbsp;one&nbsp;about&nbsp;the&nbsp;eight&nbsp;years&nbsp;I&nbsp;spent&nbsp;in&nbsp;the&nbsp;White&nbsp;House&nbsp;living&nbsp;history&nbsp;with&nbsp;Bill&nbsp;Clinton.&nbsp;I&nbsp;quickly&nbsp;realized&nbsp;that&nbsp;I&nbsp;couldn’t&nbsp;explain&nbsp;my&nbsp;life&nbsp;as&nbsp;First&nbsp;Lady&nbsp;without&nbsp;going&nbsp;bac...