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When I read the book, the biography famous,
And is this then （said I） what the author calls a man's life?
And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?
（As if any man really knew aught of my life,
Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life,
Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections,
I seek for my own use to trace out here.）