But Oliv was handcuffed to an itchy chair and she didn’t have a piece of paper or a pencil to write a phrase and then end it with a colon. So she just said the four-letter words that came to mind. This had an immediate effect on her captors, who either weren’t used to hearing four-letter words or weren’t impressed with her street poetry. Maybe they all thought they could do better, but none of them said anything. The woman got up, went to the kitchen, and a moment later came back with a roll of duct tape. Where her expression had been blank a moment ago, she seemed very disapproving now. Oliv twisted her head so the woman couldn’t put the tape over her mouth, all the while slinging four-letter words like flapjacks (she hadn’t repeated herself yet), but then one of the men got up and helped. Oliv’s tirade ended. Well . . . dammit.
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