Many, many (nearly 600) moons ago, on a hot humid Sunday evening, I was persuaded by my heavily pregnant young friend to accompany her to the chip shop (only thing open on a Sunday night) to get sherbet sookers for her because she was desperately craving them. As she was wearing her DH's slippers, her feet having swollen so badly she could not get her own shoes on, she elected to lurk at the top of the steps up to the High Street while I went into the shop for her Sherbet. Unfortunately the shop was crowded and so unbearably hot that I had to come out, staggered along the street and passed out cold at my friend's feet.
Frank your daughter was not the only one with low blood pressure!
My friend was at a loss as she could barely bend down, let alone haul me to my feet and just at that out came the congregation from the evening service at the 'posh' Parish Church. Oh how they tut-tutted as they rushed past us in their Sunday best, with muttered comments about 'drunk at this time of night' etc. Once they had all gone on their superior way a big old black car stopped and a rough tough young man stuck his head out the window to enquire 'Is yer pal drunk hen? My friend explained that I had merely fainted and the guy said 'Well we'd better get her hame before the Polis lift her' whereupon he lifted me bodily into the back of his car (onto what I took to be a furry rug until it began to lick my face), drove us down the road and carried me into my friend's flat. He said that no thanks were required just a promise to do the same for him or his mates some day.
I think there is a similar story in the bible. To thank my Good Samaritan I have never walked past any collapsed, comatose or obviously distressed person since and have come to no harm whatsoever while offering assistance.