The Night was everyday. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti crammed the modest, two-space home where by 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 https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Relatives's Cry: The Human Expense Of Blasphemy Legislation in Pakistan
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