They crouched to peer beneath the stairs. They were surprised by how small it was -- "I don't even think an adult could fit in there," he said.
"Sure, if it was an adult midget," she said.
"How big of a midget?" he said.
"We're not really going to discuss the relative sizes of midgets, are we?" she said, turning to look at him for the first time since they found the passageway.
"I think dwarf is the preferred nomenclature anyway," he said with a tired air, pushing the hair out of his eyes. His glasses had slid down his nose from the sweat on his face. It was hot in there. The open window behind them provided no cooling breeze, just a waft of dust.
Their eyes adjusted to the dim light; he was the first to notice the blankets. Wadded up in their folds was some banal detritus: a styrofoam cup that had once contained coffee but now contained the drowned end of a cigarette; cellophane wrappers for sandwiches; a porn magazine ("Leg Show"); some shoes (two paint-spattered boots, a sneaker whose sole had started to come away for its upper, and a grimy flip-flop).