Pondering

Examples

• It is strange that he should have told you the truth,' says Mrs Lammle, seriously pondering. Charles Dickens. Our Mutual Friend.
• But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project for some days, she confided it to her mother. Louisa May Alcott. Little Women.
• After some pondering, I determined to write to the only honest man within reach whom we could trust to help us discreetly in our forlorn situation. Wilkie Collins. The Woman in White.
• Birkin, pondering as he stood there, had forgotten Mrs Crich, as she had forgotten him. D. H. Lawrence. Women in Love .
• While pondering this problem, I sat in the dormitory window-seat. Charlotte Bronte. Villette.
• He turned it over in his mind, with thought deep and slow, as some German pondering metaphysics. Charlotte Bronte. Shirley.
• However all my time, and all my pondering, and all my skill, only confirmed me the more steadily in this opinion--that I know nothing about it. Harriette Wilson. The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson.
• Then, after a moment's pondering, almost to her own surprise she broke out with a flash of inspiration: Well, go over and see Mr. Selden. Edith Wharton. The House of Mirth.
• He walked forward a few paces, still pondering, then resumed his soliloquizing in a muttered tone. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
• I went on my way pondering many things. Charlotte Bronte. Villette.
• He seemed to find an immense fund of reflection in this circumstance, and sat pondering and inwardly whistling for some time. Charles Dickens. David Copperfield.
• There is an amused smile on the ironmaster's face as he watches his brother, who is pondering, deeply disappointed. Charles Dickens. Bleak House.
• I also was taught as you, but forty years of solitude—comparative solitude—and pondering have turned me into what I am—an agnostic. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
• My dear, I have remained all night at my table, pondering again and again on what has so painfully passed between us. Charles Dickens. Hard Times.
• I filled the interval in walking softly about my room, and pondering the visitation which had given my plans their present bent. Charlotte Bronte. Jane Eyre.

Editor: Pratt