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The specter of republicanism, occasionally invoked, is like a banner to drape over the parapet. We can no longer afford to build the parapet. We can only dress it appropriately for the new era. We can survive on the conquests of our ancestors, praising them in rhetoric and atavism, while we ourselves languish, giving our souls over to the tyranny of new kings. This kings will wait years, or centuries, before admitting that they are kings. They will continue to play the games of the old days, the games which were invented and designed in times of freedom, but which always bore within them the traces of the fascism of ages past. The games of freedom, the games of peace, will disappear from memory. They will die out by design. They will be assassinated. The kings will claim that these peaceful and loving games died out because they were not successful at competing.