"It is quite a lot, isn't it?" Susan asks, looking at the piles. "I rather like it. There was a shop that sold rugs midway between my flat and my job, back in London, and sometimes I liked to go in there and pretend I could afford them. I believe the shopkeeper knew I couldn't." She gives Lancelot a wry sort of look. "I'm afraid I used my looks to my advantage so that he might tolerate my visits." Oh, that sounds naughtier than she'd intended! There had been nothing untoward, just aimless flirtation with a kindly older gentleman.