It took a little while for people to get used to Matthew touching them. It required a certain patience, because when Matthew wasn't expending his energy and his senses for precision (using the adrenaline of movement, the scent of fear, and the increased heat signatures of nearby bodies) he very rarely pinpointed the exact placement of his own limbs in relationship to other people.
His hand went down the edge of the soldier's elbow, patted twice in a sort of encouraging manner, and then fell free.
"Ay," Matthew agreed, as the soldier seemed to return more to the world of conversation and sanity from the dark, focused place he had been before. "Someone always does. An' tho' they do but rarely deserve it, it falls upon those still living to mop up the dead. Thy dedication to justice becomes thee, James. Do not let it consume what good God may make for thee in the hazy future."
And with that, Matthew drew his makeshift cane back in front of him to retreat again into the maze of the building, the streets, and the city.