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Henry\'s next visitor is the priest. His visit is a contrast to Rinaldi\'s. It\'s sundown, cooler. Henry says that lying in bed at dusk makes him feel like a small boy.
The talk turns to the ever-present war and is loaded with meaning. Henry suggests that the priest is suffering from the \"war disgust\"--perhaps the hollow feeling that sent Henry to the city instead of to Abruzzi, a disgust and uncaring that begin with the fighting but extend to all of life. The priest says that is not the case; he hates only the war. The priest spells things out neatly. The men in the Italian army don\'t want to fight; the officers and the \"people who would make war\" force them to. Henry, although not a real officer, is, according to the priest, closer to them than to the men. Even wounded, Henry doesn\'t see the war for what it is.
He\'s probably right. At this stage, frightened as he might have been at getting blown up, Henry is still learning. He may deprecate his forthcoming medals, but it\'s a good bet that he\'ll wear them.
The priest speculates about what he\'ll do after the war. At the mention of the Abruzzi--that region of rural serenity--the priest brightens, and the talk turns to love. At first it\'s love of God, but as the priest moves to go, Henry asks a pointed question, \"How about loving women? If I really loved some woman...\"
Note the difference between this and the close of the last chapter. The priest talks of pure love; Rinaldi complains about the same old prostitutes. The priest assures Henry that he will fall in love and be happy; Rinaldi disparagingly says there is no real difference between a good girl (like Catherine) and one of his whores. The priest and Henry part with warmth; Rinaldi leaves on the verge of a fight.
The chapter ends with a detailed description of the Abruzzi. It should be obvious now that this place is to be thought of as a kind of paradise, in contrast to the hell of the war-torn country.
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