In desperation he pushed back the blankets with his hands for the first time, hoping against hope that it wasnt as bad as the shapes the blankets made seemed to suggest it was.
Giving the stairs only a brief glance (there were drips of ice-cream on some of the carpeted stair levels and glazey smears of it on the banister), Paul rolled down to the door. "He was on his feet a moment later, sprinting back toward the pony-trap, where the digging tools were, his slippered feet sending the placid groumdmist into excited little roils.