The Evening was standard. The smell of daal and freshly baked roti filled the compact, two-home household wherever Anwar Masih lived with his wife and two youngsters. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a story from university. It had been an easy, sacred minute of peace—an image of https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Relatives's Cry: The Human Expense Of Blasphemy Regulations in Pakistan
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