Agnes was used to these differences - she was able to sleep in as late as she chose, while Ginger and Marta could not - and thought nothing of them. It was just the way things had always been.
She took a piece of toast off the tray, biting into it before signing back, "Were you able to deliver the letter I wrote yesterday? Were there any new ones?" She looked excited, as she always did at the prospect of a new letter. They were the one unpredictable thing in her thoroughly predictable world.