To arrive at a conclusion by reasoning from evidence, premises, or general principles.
When Anna saw the muddy shoes by the door and the wet footprints on the floor, she tried to infer who had come home first. She looked at the clues and used her mind to arrive at a conclusion, hoping to solve the small mystery.
She saw the dog's tail wagging, ears perked, and a happy bark. From these signs, she could infer the dog wanted to play. It was clear the dog felt excited and friendly.
He saw the muddy footprints leading to the open window. From this, he could infer that someone had entered the house. A shiver ran down his spine; the quiet house suddenly felt very unsafe.
The old man watched the single, wilting sunflower droop lower each day. From its bent stem and the pale, dry soil, he could infer the long, dry spell the garden had suffered. No rain meant no growth, a simple, sad truth.
The old barn door creaked open, revealing a single, dusty boot. From the pattern of the mud on its sole and the way the hinge was bent, Elias began to infer that someone had recently entered, not for the first time.
He watched the dog wag its tail, a happy thump against the floor. From the eager panting and the dropped tennis ball at his feet, he could easily infer the dog wanted to play fetch.
The slime mold pulsed, a slow, deliberate spread across the petri dish. Watching its tendrils seek out the sugar grains, she could infer its preference without any outward sign. It simply *knew* where to go, a silent decision reached through unseen pathways.
The old mechanic stared at the sputtering engine, oil smudged across his brow. He didn't need to ask what happened; he could infer the driver had pushed it too hard, too long. The strained cough of the motor told him everything he needed to know.
My cat stares intently at an empty spot on the rug, then slowly backs away. From this, I can infer she saw a dust bunny the size of a badger and decided discretion was the better part of valor.
Observing the dust bunnies engaging in what appeared to be a coordinated raid on the forgotten cheese puff under the sofa, I could only infer their sophisticated plotting. Clearly, they had pooled their lint-based resources and devised a strategy. It was a masterclass in subterranean rodent espionage, or perhaps just a Tuesday.
The detective studied the muddy footprints leading away from the open window. He could infer from their size and spacing that the intruder was a man of significant height, and likely in a hurry to escape unnoticed.
She watched the dust motes dance in the faint beam of her flashlight, the silence of the abandoned observatory pressing in. The cracked leather of the pilot's logbook lay open. From the smudged ink and peculiar notations about atmospheric anomalies, she began to infer that the expedition had ended not in triumph, but in profound disarray.
The researcher observed the subtle shift in the crystalline lattice structure. From this minute alteration, and considering established principles of subatomic resonance, she began to infer the presence of a previously undetected energy signature within the sample, a conclusion drawn directly from the evidence before her.
After observing my roommate meticulously alphabetize the spice rack and then lecture the dog on proper leash etiquette, I could easily infer that he was probably a wizard in a previous life. He certainly possessed a peculiar, albeit domestic, command over his domain.
After meticulously examining the discarded, partially eaten kale chip and the suspicious glitter trail leading to the cat's favorite napping spot, I could only infer that Fluffy had orchestrated a daring daylight raid on my artisanal snack stash, a conclusion supported by the faint, smug purring emanating from the feline culprit.
He observed the agitated thrashing of the salmon, their iridescent scales a frantic blur. From this palpable disquiet, the seasoned angler could infer an approaching storm. The sudden, oppressive humidity and the peculiar stillness in the air painted a grim prognosis for his otherwise tranquil afternoon.
The forensic analyst meticulously examined the minuscule particulate matter. From the alloy's unique isotopic signature and the trace residual compounds, she began to infer the origin of the fragment, a critical step in understanding the clandestine experiment's catastrophic failure.
The seismologist, hunched over the flickering monitor, noticed a subtle, rhythmic tremor unlike any she had previously cataloged. From the anomalous waveform and the unusual geological strata, she could infer a nascent, subterranean magma intrusion, a chilling premonition of an imminent eruption.
From the pungent aroma wafting from the kitchen and the distinct absence of my cat, I could infer that my roommate, a veritable gastronome of questionable culinary endeavors, had once again attempted to prepare a "delicacy" involving anchovies and fermented cabbage. My stomach churned, a prescient intuition of gastronomic tribulation.
Observing the sentient, perpetually disgruntled dust bunnies orchestrating a sophisticated siege on my grandfather's prized porcelain pug, I could readily infer their nefarious agenda. Their relentless scuttling and strategically placed fluff barrages—a veritable tempest of lint and malice—certainly suggested a grander, albeit microscopic, coup d'état brewing beneath the chaise longue.
Normal — Everyday words worth reinforcing.