“In the room usually so thick with words, there was silence. The men who were fathers thought of their own children and resolved to show them nothing but love till the end of their days. Those who were old and had never known a child of their own suffered a great pang of absence, and those who were childless and still young were pierced with the longing to hold their own offspring in their arms.”

Stories, grief, and connectivity all intersect as those in the Swan realize they’re looking at a child—one who seems to have drowned. For a moment, the stories of the Swan stop as the patrons grapple with the tragedy in front of them. They long for increased human connection with which to process their grief over this nameless child, and they swear to show more affection to those still in their lives. This quote also encompasses descriptors of many of those involved in the story: the Armstrong family, who have many children; the childless Rita and Lily, who are still affected by past trauma; and the Vaughans, who are stuck in limbo as their kidnapped daughter’s fate remains unclear. The stakes of the novel are quickly established through the lens of family makeup.

“Simply, with no embellishments, Frederick told what had happened at the Swan these last hours.

Leaning out of the window, the neighbor was drawn in, at first unwillingly, to the story, then she called someone behind her.

‘Come, Wilfred! Listen to this!’”

The narrator provides insight into how the story of The Child travels and, in doing so, highlights the way that stories grow past their source material. Before the night is through, Fredrick has communicated the events at the Swan to enough people that the story becomes uncontrollable. Like a river, the story flows from one person to the next, and listeners are reluctantly drawn in just like swimmers can’t escape a strong current.