A Thousand Splendid Suns

Mariam fixed her eyes on Jalil, her heart somersaulting in her chest. "Is
this true? What she's saying, is it true?"
But Jalil wouldn't look at her. He went on chewing the corner of his
lower lip and staring at the pitcher.
"Now he is a little older than you," Afsoon chimed in. "But he can't be
more than…forty. Forty-five at the most. Wouldn't you say,Nargis?"
"Yes. But I've seen nine-year-old girls given to men twenty years older
than your suitor, Mariam. We all have. What are you, fifteen? That's a
good, solid marrying age for a girl." There was enthusiastic nodding at
this. It did not escape Mariam that no mention was made of her half
sisters Saideh or Naheed, both her own age, both students in the Mehri
School in Herat, both with plans to enroll in Kabul University. Fifteen,
evidently, was not a good, solid marrying age for them.
"What's more," Nargis went on, "he too has had a great loss in his life.
His wife, we hear, died during childbirth ten years ago. And then, three
years ago, his son drowned in a lake."
"It's very sad, yes. He's been looking for a bride the last few years but
hasn't found anyone suitable."
"I don't want to," Mariam said. She looked at Jalil. "I don't want this.
Don't make me." She hated the sniffling, pleading tone of her voice but
could not help it.
"Now, be reasonable, Mariam," one of the wives said.