You can call me Lucy

The South Gate leads to the waterfront, and is obviously an iniquitous area. Approaching the flow of the shabby multitude passing through, the adventurer sees there is a static point. A woman of indeterminate age, who in another time and place would be described as gin-raddled, is standing there. In front of her is a small cloth with figurines laid out on it, either a small, sad way to make a living or an excuse for her real profession. He goes over and hands her the card. She takes it and looks at it for a moment, then smiles. The smile is almost shy, and totally lacking in the artifice he might have expected.

“Hello, love. You can call me Lucy.”
She hands the card back, then adds:
“There’s writing on it, but I can’t read so you’ll have to tell me what it says.”