Not until the light porter announced that her nocturnal sweetbread was ready, did Mrs. Sparsit arouse herself from her reverie, and convey her dense black eyebrows — by that time creased with meditation, as if they needed ironing out-up-stairs.
There are no more uses of "reverie" in the book.
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I was lost in reverie and missed her third point.
At this memory, I smile, but Ruth’s voice cuts through my reverie, her disappointment evident.