"What's up, missis?" he asked.
"It's my poor heart," said the old woman with an Irish brogue. "I'm very queer. It's near death I am. For the love of Heaven give me a ride in the beautiful caravan."
"Where do you want to go?" Kink growled at her.
"To Alverminster," she said. "To see my daughter. She lives there. She's been married these five years to a carpenter, and she's just had another baby, bless it's wee face! But me poor heart's that bad I can't go another step."
Kink drew Janet aside. "She's an old humbug," he said, "and she smells of gin. Better let her be."
"Oh, Kinky," said Janet, "how can we! The poor old thing, and her daughter waiting to see her!"
"Daughter!" Kink snorted. "She's got no daughter. She's trying it on."
"How horrid you are!" Janet said. "I mean to give her a lift, anyway."
"It's against my advice," said Kink. "Anyway, promise me you won't give her any money."
"Very well," said Janet, and she invited the old woman to sit on a chair at the back of the caravan.