BELGIUM: A Mother

It was 8 a.m. in Brussels. The debauchees of the previous night were asleep. The famed fountains exuded sparkling water in the sunlight as passers-by bought their morning newspapers and hurried to their cafe an lait at nearby restaurants. There was a faint bustle in the air as the capital began to get into its business stride.

Suddenly a great boom disturbed the comparative quiet—the sound of artillery fire. Boom! Coffee cups stopped halfway to open mouths. Boom! Newspapers fell to the breakfast table. Boom! Boom!...

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