The Evening was regular. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti loaded the smaller, two-space dwelling wherever Anwar Masih lived with his spouse and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a Tale from school. It had been a straightforward, sacred moment of peace—a picture of https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Loved Ones's Cry: The Human Cost of Blasphemy Rules in Pakistan
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