--- a/env/lib/python3.7/site-packages/cwltool/tests/wf/whale.txt	Thu May 14 16:47:39 2020 -0400
+++ /dev/null	Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 1970 +0000
@@ -1,16 +0,0 @@
-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.