“I am not your property to be shamed,” she whispered, but her voice cracked.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “Only something to remember. You are Jane of the Apes now. Act like it.” tarazan shame of jane
Tarzan stopped inches from her. He reached out and, with impossible gentleness, took the locket from her clenched fist. It was cheap brass, already tarnishing. “I am not your property to be shamed,”
Jane felt the shame then—not because he had shamed her, but because he was right. She had been careless with the trust of people who owed her nothing, and with the love of a man who owed her everything. You are Jane of the Apes now
The word hit her like a slap. Shame. She had never heard it from his lips. In the house of Lord Greystoke, shame was a silk noose, a whisper at dinner. Here, it was a raw blade.
“This,” he said, “is nothing. You are my mate. You are worth a hundred villages. But you acted like a thief. And a thief in the jungle does not live.”
“Who you were,” Tarzan repeated, dropping silently to the earth. He walked toward her, each step a controlled storm. “You were a woman who understood the law of the jungle: do not take what is not yours. Do not trade fear for a trinket. You shamed yourself before the elders. Worse—you shamed me.”
