In many a town the station agent ran out of tickets and had to scrawl railway passes on odd bits of cardboard. By train, by bus, by tram, by motor, by cart and by foot, every Belgian who could move went to Brussels last week to see a great King buried, to hear a new King proclaimed.
All night long crowds lined the Rue Royale and the squares before the Royal Palace and the Church of St. Gudule. Before dawn the roofs were black with watchers and one exhausted patriot had fallen out of...
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