Reacher arrived, at a clumsy run, six feet five of bone and muscle and 250 pounds of moving mass, against a lean kid just then coming up out of a crouch. Reacher slammed into him with a twist and a dip of the shoulder, and the guy flailed through the air like a crash test dummy, and landed in a long sliding tangle of limbs, half on the sidewalk, half in the gutter. He came to rest and lay still.
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‘The kindness of strangers,’ Reacher said. ‘Makes the world go round. Some guy wrote a play about it.’ ‘Tennessee Williams,’ Shevick said. ‘A Streetcar Named Desire.’ ‘One of which we could use right now. Three blocks for a nickel would be a bargain.’

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