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intr.v. saun·tered, saun·ter·ing, saun·ters
To walk at a leisurely pace; stroll.
1. A leisurely pace.
2. A leisurely walk or stroll.

[Probably from Middle English santren, to muse.]

saun′ter·er n.
American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fifth Edition. Copyright © 2016 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.


the act of sauntering
Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged, 12th Edition 2014 © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2011, 2014
References in classic literature ?
After sauntering along for some time he discovered the Hare by the wayside, apparently asleep, and seeing a chance to win pushed on as fast as he could, arriving at the goal hours afterward, suffering from extreme fatigue and claiming the victory.
The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they were going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in, first.
Felix made a second sauntering attempt to reach the picture-gallery.
Down the avenue came boastfully sauntering a lad of sixteen years, although the chronic sneer of an ideal manhood already sat upon his lips.
Carey has been scolding me on your account?" said Miss Wilkinson, when they were sauntering through the kitchen garden.
Sauntering around the corner of the house in the early morning, he came upon a chicken that had escaped from the chicken-yard.
Queequeg and I had just left the Pequod, and were sauntering away from the water, for the moment each occupied with his own thoughts, when the above words were put to us by a stranger, who, pausing before us, levelled his massive forefinger at the vessel in question.
While they were busy among the spoils, a solitary trapper, who had been absent at his work, came sauntering to the camp with his traps on his back.
In Leslie Carol Roberts's pensive collection of environmentally-oriented essays, the author asks "what is a walk in a forest if not a chance to fully and deeply celebrate the sauntering and reflective mind?" Roberts's walking grounds are in San Francisco's Presidio park, set within her residential area.
I haven't actually seen a shot struck in anger but I assume the ever-dapper Roger Federer has been sauntering on to court in a Gareth Southgate-style waistcoat.