Window-sill

There was a glass of water on the table, and on the window-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills.

Tom leaned on the window-sill.

Horned toads hopped about; each of the four upper corners of the room was festooned with a thick cobweb, in the center of which sat a spider as big around as a washbasin, and armed with pincher-like claws; a red-and-green lizard was stretched at full length on the window-sill and black rats darted in and out of the holes they had gnawed in the floor of the cottage.

After amusing herself for a brief time with picking to pieces some mignonette which filled a box on the window-sill, Marie threw the flowers from her, and exclaimed,—"And here we are seated together, as we used to talk away half the night in Italy. Good Heavens! how we are altered!"

Suddenly a beautiful delf blue-and-white flower-pot, which had been set on the window-sill of an upper storey, fell to the ground with a crash, and the fragments spluttered up around my father's legs.

Spite of the dark cloud which in those Puritan days overhung all diversions and every cheerful pastime, the little book won its way to many a sunny window-sill in English country-houses, and accompanied many anglers to the water side; for in two years' time another edition was required.

In Walachia, green sods are laid on the window-sills and on the lintels of the doors to avert the uncanny crew [i.e. witches].

Once on her window-sill Harmony found among the pigeons a carrier pigeon with a brass tube fastened to its leg.

Another person owns a flower-potful of earth on his window-sill—but he has to pay rent for the space it occupies.

[…] he sat up and shook his ears once or twice, and then sprang lightly off the window-sill and began to mountaineer about the contents of the garret.

There was nothing else in the room at all except a dead blue-bottle on the window-sill.

I was going to boak: I made the window and opened it but most of the sickness hit the window-sill in a heap.

The more superficial beholder of the book's cover (a magnificent piece of artistry by the Venetian painter Gabriel Bella) will have failed to notice, on its continuation overleaf, the employee of an ancient jeu de paume who, having scaled the slanting roof of the gallery, is busily retrieving from the dusty recesses of the window-sill the stray tennis balls from below.