The Evening was normal. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti filled the tiny, two-area property wherever Anwar Masih lived with his wife and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a Tale from school. It had been an easy, sacred second of peace—a picture of https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Loved Ones's Cry: The Human Expense of Blasphemy Laws in Pakistan
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