"How's my darling?" he asked with his usual indifference.
She asked, a smile in her voice, "How's the weather in Idaho?"
"How's it going?" the detective asked as he draped his suit jacket on the railing and pulled off his tie before slumping down in the rocker across the room from the old man.
How's your spy network?
How's life in the sun?
So, how's scruffy doing?
How's that for squirming out of a leading question?
How's the rest of your research coming?
How's that for irony?
How's tomorrow work for you?
"How's this, Colonel?" he shouted as he approached.
"How's the shoulder," he asked as she fastened a clip.
"How's everyone else?" he asked.
So how's the election coming?
How's she going to fly in this stuff?
How's Donald and Donnie?
"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the other had ridden up to him.
Well, and how's Moscow?
How's your mother doing these days?
"How's your spaced-out heroine doing?" he asked.
How's about I cook up those muffins and stuff.
How's the little lady?
"How's Death?" he baited.
"Well," said she, "how's my Cossack?"