timber lodge. Out here among the dark Satanic forests of pine,
beech, and oak, Göring felt like a Teutonic knight of old. He
would carry a spear, and command Robert to dress him in red
top boots of Russian leather with golden spurs, in floor-length
coats like a French emperor, in silk blouses with puffy sleeves.
Emmy or no Emmy, his waking thoughts were still over-
shadowed by the morbid memory of Carin. Her ghost haunted
him more than ever now that the workmen were constructing
Carinhall. Down by the lakeside, on the far shore, he ordered
them to excavate a macabre mausoleum, with five-foot-thick
walls of Brandenburg granite. In a few months’ time it would be
ready to receive the pewter sarcophagus from Sweden.
One day he expected to lie in it by his devoted Carin’s side
to spend all eternity with her beneath these moaning pines.