"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.
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?
So, how's scruffy doing?
How's that for squirming out of a leading question?
How's that for irony?
How's tomorrow work for you?
"How's the shoulder," he asked as she fastened a clip.
"How's this, Colonel?" he shouted as he approached.
How's your mother doing these days?
"How's everyone else?" he asked.
So how's the election coming?
Well, and how's Moscow?
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 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.
How's about I cook up those muffins and stuff.