--- /dev/null	Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 1970 +0000
+++ b/env/lib/python3.7/site-packages/cwltool/tests/wf/whale.txt	Sat May 02 07:14:21 2020 -0400
@@ -0,0 +1,16 @@
+Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having
+little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on
+shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of
+the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating
+the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth;
+whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find
+myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up
+the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get
+such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to
+prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically
+knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea
+as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a
+philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly
+take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew
+it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very
+nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.