As the merciless sun beat down, Minnie paused to wipe the stream of perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand. Her gaze drifted westward, beyond the canyons of brick tenements that imprisoned her. She yearned to escape this wretched existence, to breathe the fresh, untainted air of the vast frontier lands. A life of endless drudgery stretched out before her, unless she seized an opportunity for deliverance.
With what little money she could scrape together, Minnie responded to a curious advertisement seeking women of good character to become mail-order brides in the newly settled western territories. She doubted any upstanding man would desire a ragamuffin street sweeper as his wife. Still, she diligently completed the lengthy application, desperate to start anew.
As weeks turned into months, hope wavered in Minnie's heart as she received no reply to her application. The heavy weight of disappointment settled on her shoulders like a shroud as she continued to sweep the same streets day in and day out.
One particularly dreary morning, as the rain fell in a melancholic rhythm, a familiar face approached Minnie amidst the downpour. It was Mrs. Smythe, the kind widow who ran the local boarding house.
"Morning, Minnie dear," Mrs. Smythe greeted with a warm smile, her umbrella shielding them from the worst of the rain. "I've got a letter for you."
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