"How's it going?" he asked, motioning to the notebook.
"How's my darling?" he asked with his usual indifference.
"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.
So, how's scruffy doing?
She asked, a smile in her voice, "How's the weather in Idaho?"
How's your spy network?
How's the rest of your research coming?
How's life in the sun?
How's that for squirming out of a leading question?
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?
Well, and how's Moscow?
How's your mother doing these days?
How's everything on your side of the world?
"How's your spaced-out heroine doing?" he asked.
How's she going to fly in this stuff?
How's the little lady?
How's Donald and Donnie?
"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the other had ridden up to him.
How's the election coming?
How's about I cook up those muffins and stuff.
How's now work, early enough?
"Well," said she, "how's my Cossack?"
And how's your father?
"How's the war?" she asked as he neared.