From 4f4c3f152a0afd353eb5f9d2b5ae1390ce89477a Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Ian Molee <imolee@gmail.com>
Date: Mon, 8 Apr 2024 18:12:07 -0700
Subject: [PATCH] Add additional documents for e2e test

---
 main_test.go        |  47 +++++++----
 testdata/e2e/11.txt | 133 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/13.txt |  75 +++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/15.txt | 158 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/19.txt |  90 ++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/2.txt  | 200 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/21.txt |  58 +++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/22.txt | 179 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/25.txt | 128 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 testdata/e2e/7.txt  |  51 +++++++++++
 10 files changed, 1105 insertions(+), 14 deletions(-)
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/11.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/13.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/15.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/19.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/2.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/21.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/22.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/25.txt
 create mode 100644 testdata/e2e/7.txt

diff --git a/main_test.go b/main_test.go
index 79590fb..15de948 100644
--- a/main_test.go
+++ b/main_test.go
@@ -102,22 +102,41 @@ func TestFileContentsCache(t *testing.T) {
 }
 
 func TestEndToEnd(t *testing.T) {
-	docs, err := run([]string{"argv0", "-path", "testdata/e2e"})
-	want := []int{1, 6, 9, 12, 14, 18}
+	docs, _, err := run([]string{"argv0", "-path", "testdata/e2e"})
+	want := []Document{
+		{
+			ID:              1,
+			AssociatedFiles: []int{1, 6, 9, 12, 14, 18},
+			LatestTimestamp: 5,
+		},
+		{
+			ID:              2,
+			AssociatedFiles: []int{2, 7, 13, 15, 22, 25},
+			LatestTimestamp: 5,
+		},
+		{
+			ID:              3,
+			AssociatedFiles: []int{11, 19},
+			LatestTimestamp: 7,
+		},
+		{
+			ID:              4,
+			AssociatedFiles: []int{21},
+			LatestTimestamp: 3,
+		},
+	}
 	if err != nil {
 		t.Fatal("error running program: ", err)
 	}
-	if len(docs) != 1 {
-		t.Fatalf("expected %d documents, got %d", 1, len(docs))
-	}
-	doc := docs[0]
-	if doc.ID != 1 {
-		t.Errorf("expected ID %d, got %d", 0, doc.ID)
-	}
-	if doc.LatestTimestamp != 5 {
-		t.Errorf("expected latest timestamp %d, got %d", 3, doc.LatestTimestamp)
-	}
-	if !reflect.DeepEqual(doc.AssociatedFiles, want) {
-		t.Errorf("expected associated files %v, got %v", want, doc.AssociatedFiles)
+	for i, doc := range docs {
+		if got, want := doc.ID, want[i].ID; got != want {
+			t.Errorf("expected ID %d, got %d", want, got)
+		}
+		if want, got := doc.LatestTimestamp, want[i].LatestTimestamp; got != want {
+			t.Errorf("expected latest timestamp %d, got %d", want, got)
+		}
+		if want, got := doc.AssociatedFiles, want[i].AssociatedFiles; !reflect.DeepEqual(got, want) {
+			t.Errorf("expected associated files %v, got %v", want, got)
+		}
 	}
 }
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/11.txt b/testdata/e2e/11.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3be77f0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/11.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,133 @@
+7
+CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag.
+
+I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
+arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city
+of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night
+in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little
+packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching
+that place would offer, till the following Monday.
+
+As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at
+this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well
+be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was
+made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a
+fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous
+old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has
+of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though
+in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket
+was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the
+first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket
+did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes
+to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did
+that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with
+imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in
+order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the
+bowsprit?
+
+Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me
+in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a
+matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a
+very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold
+and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had
+sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,—So,
+wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of
+a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the gloom towards the
+north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you
+may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to
+inquire the price, and don’t be too particular.
+
+With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of “The
+Crossed Harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. Further
+on, from the bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” there came
+such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and
+ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay
+ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me,
+when I struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from
+hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most
+miserable plight. Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing one
+moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of
+the tinkling glasses within. But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don’t
+you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are
+stopping the way. So on I went. I now by instinct followed the streets
+that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not
+the cheeriest inns.
+
+Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand,
+and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. At
+this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of
+the town proved all but deserted. But presently I came to a smoky light
+proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood
+invitingly open. It had a careless look, as if it were meant for the
+uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble
+over an ash-box in the porch. Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying
+particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city,
+Gomorrah? But “The Crossed Harpoons,” and “The Sword-Fish?”—this, then
+must needs be the sign of “The Trap.” However, I picked myself up and
+hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior
+door.
+
+It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black
+faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of
+Doom was beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the
+preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping
+and wailing and teeth-gnashing there. Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing
+out, Wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘The Trap!’
+
+Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the
+docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a
+swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly
+representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words
+underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.”
+
+Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought
+I. But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this
+Peter here is an emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and
+the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated
+little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here
+from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a
+poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very
+spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.
+
+It was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house, one side palsied
+as it were, and leaning over sadly. It stood on a sharp bleak corner,
+where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than
+ever it did about poor Paul’s tossed craft. Euroclydon, nevertheless,
+is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the
+hob quietly toasting for bed. “In judging of that tempestuous wind
+called Euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works I possess the
+only copy extant—“it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou
+lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the
+outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where
+the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only
+glazier.” True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my
+mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. Yes, these eyes are
+windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn’t
+stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint
+here and there. But it’s too late to make any improvements now. The
+universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted
+off a million years ago. Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth
+against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with
+his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a
+corn-cob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the
+tempestuous Euroclydon. Euroclydon! says old Dives, in his red silken
+wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! What a fine frosty
+night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their
+oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the
+privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
+
+But what thinks Lazarus? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up
+to the grand northern lights? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra
+than here? Would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the
+line of the equator; yea, ye gods! go down to the fiery pit itself, in
+order to keep out this frost?
+
+Now, that Lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the
+door of Dives, this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be
+moored to one of the Moluccas. Yet Dives himself, he too lives like a
+Czar in an ice palace made of frozen sighs, and being a president of a
+temperance society, he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans.
+
+But no more of this blubbering now, we are going a-whaling, and there
+is plenty of that yet to come. Let us scrape the ice from our frosted
+feet, and see what sort of a place this “Spouter” may be.
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/13.txt b/testdata/e2e/13.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed421bb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/13.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,75 @@
+1
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and
+seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the
+extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder
+warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water
+as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of
+them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets
+and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell
+me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all
+those ships attract them thither?
+
+No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast,
+plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
+True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to
+spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of
+thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honor,
+particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the
+Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if
+just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been
+lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in
+awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
+schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and
+the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off
+in time.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/15.txt b/testdata/e2e/15.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab80792
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/15.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,158 @@
+3
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears
+Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What
+do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand
+thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some
+leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some
+looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the
+rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these
+are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to
+counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are
+the green fields gone? What do they here?
+
+But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest,
+quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley
+of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his
+trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were
+within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up
+from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands
+winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in
+their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and
+though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this
+shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were
+fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June,
+when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among
+Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop
+of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel
+your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon
+suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy
+him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian
+trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a
+robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
+Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a
+mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out
+of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did
+the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely
+all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that
+story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild
+image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that
+same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image
+of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
+
+No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast,
+plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
+True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to
+spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of
+thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honor,
+particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the
+Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if
+just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been
+lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in
+awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
+schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and
+the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off
+in time.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!
+
+Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome
+exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,
+head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if
+you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the
+Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from
+the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not
+so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many
+other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But
+wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a
+merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
+voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the
+constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in
+some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And,
+doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand
+programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in
+as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive
+performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run
+something like this:
+
+“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
+“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
+
+Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the
+Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when
+others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short
+and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I
+cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the
+circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives
+which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced
+me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the
+delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill
+and discriminating judgment.
+
+Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale
+himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my
+curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island
+bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all
+the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds,
+helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things
+would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an
+everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and
+land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to
+perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let
+me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of
+the place one lodges in.
+
+By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the
+great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild
+conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into
+my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them
+all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
+
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/19.txt b/testdata/e2e/19.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..453bd4c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/19.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,90 @@
+3
+CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag.
+
+I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
+arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city
+of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night
+in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little
+packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching
+that place would offer, till the following Monday.
+
+As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at
+this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well
+be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was
+made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a
+fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous
+old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has
+of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though
+in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket
+was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the
+first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket
+did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes
+to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did
+that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with
+imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in
+order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the
+bowsprit?
+
+Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me
+in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a
+matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a
+very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold
+and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had
+sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,—So,
+wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of
+a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the gloom towards the
+north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you
+may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to
+inquire the price, and don’t be too particular.
+
+With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of “The
+Crossed Harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. Further
+on, from the bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” there came
+such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and
+ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay
+ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me,
+when I struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from
+hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most
+miserable plight. Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing one
+moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of
+the tinkling glasses within. But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don’t
+you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are
+stopping the way. So on I went. I now by instinct followed the streets
+that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not
+the cheeriest inns.
+
+Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand,
+and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. At
+this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of
+the town proved all but deserted. But presently I came to a smoky light
+proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood
+invitingly open. It had a careless look, as if it were meant for the
+uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble
+over an ash-box in the porch. Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying
+particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city,
+Gomorrah? But “The Crossed Harpoons,” and “The Sword-Fish?”—this, then
+must needs be the sign of “The Trap.” However, I picked myself up and
+hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior
+door.
+
+It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black
+faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of
+Doom was beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the
+preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping
+and wailing and teeth-gnashing there. Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing
+out, Wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘The Trap!’
+
+Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the
+docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a
+swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly
+representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words
+underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.”
+
+Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought
+I. But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this
+Peter here is an emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and
+the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated
+little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here
+from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a
+poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very
+spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/2.txt b/testdata/e2e/2.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ec9181d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/2.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,200 @@
+5
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears
+Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What
+do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand
+thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some
+leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some
+looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the
+rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these
+are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to
+counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are
+the green fields gone? What do they here?
+
+But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and
+seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the
+extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder
+warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water
+as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of
+them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets
+and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell
+me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all
+those ships attract them thither?
+
+Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take
+almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a
+dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in
+it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest
+reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will
+infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.
+Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this
+experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical
+professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for
+ever.
+
+But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest,
+quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley
+of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his
+trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were
+within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up
+from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands
+winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in
+their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and
+though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this
+shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were
+fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June,
+when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among
+Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop
+of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel
+your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon
+suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy
+him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian
+trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a
+robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
+Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a
+mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out
+of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did
+the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely
+all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that
+story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild
+image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that
+same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image
+of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
+
+Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin
+to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my
+lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a
+passenger. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a
+purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers
+get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy
+themselves much, as a general thing;—no, I never go as a passenger;
+nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a
+Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction
+of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate all
+honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind
+whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself,
+without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not.
+And as for going as cook,—though I confess there is considerable glory
+in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, I
+never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, judiciously
+buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who
+will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled
+fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old
+Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the
+mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids.
+
+No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast,
+plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
+True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to
+spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of
+thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honor,
+particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the
+Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if
+just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been
+lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in
+awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
+schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and
+the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off
+in time.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!
+
+Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome
+exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,
+head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if
+you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the
+Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from
+the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not
+so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many
+other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But
+wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a
+merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
+voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the
+constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in
+some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And,
+doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand
+programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in
+as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive
+performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run
+something like this:
+
+“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
+“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
+
+Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the
+Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when
+others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short
+and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I
+cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the
+circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives
+which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced
+me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the
+delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill
+and discriminating judgment.
+
+Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale
+himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my
+curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island
+bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all
+the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds,
+helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things
+would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an
+everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and
+land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to
+perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let
+me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of
+the place one lodges in.
+
+By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the
+great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild
+conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into
+my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them
+all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/21.txt b/testdata/e2e/21.txt
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/21.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,58 @@
+3
+CHAPTER 3. The Spouter-Inn.
+
+Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide,
+low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of
+the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. On one side hung a very large
+oilpainting so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the
+unequal crosslights by which you viewed it, it was only by diligent
+study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of
+the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its
+purpose. Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first
+you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New
+England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint
+of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and
+especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the
+entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however
+wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.
+
+But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber,
+portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the
+picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a
+nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive
+a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite,
+half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to
+it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what
+that marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas,
+deceptive idea would dart you through.—It’s the Black Sea in a midnight
+gale.—It’s the unnatural combat of the four primal elements.—It’s a
+blasted heath.—It’s a Hyperborean winter scene.—It’s the breaking-up of
+the icebound stream of Time. But at last all these fancies yielded to
+that one portentous something in the picture’s midst. _That_ once found
+out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; does it not bear a faint
+resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself?
+
+In fact, the artist’s design seemed this: a final theory of my own,
+partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with
+whom I conversed upon the subject. The picture represents a Cape-Horner
+in a great hurricane; the half-foundered ship weltering there with its
+three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale,
+purposing to spring clean over the craft, is in the enormous act of
+impaling himself upon the three mast-heads.
+
+The opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish
+array of monstrous clubs and spears. Some were thickly set with
+glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots
+of human hair; and one was sickle-shaped, with a vast handle sweeping
+round like the segment made in the new-mown grass by a long-armed
+mower. You shuddered as you gazed, and wondered what monstrous cannibal
+and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with such a hacking,
+horrifying implement. Mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances
+and harpoons all broken and deformed. Some were storied weapons. With
+this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did Nathan
+Swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset. And that
+harpoon—so like a corkscrew now—was flung in Javan seas, and run away
+with by a whale, years afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco. The
+original iron entered nigh the tail, and, like a restless needle
+sojourning in the body of a man, travelled full forty feet, and at last
+was found imbedded in the hump.
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/22.txt b/testdata/e2e/22.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3112f80
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/22.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,179 @@
+4
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears
+Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What
+do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand
+thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some
+leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some
+looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the
+rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these
+are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to
+counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are
+the green fields gone? What do they here?
+
+But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and
+seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the
+extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder
+warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water
+as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of
+them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets
+and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell
+me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all
+those ships attract them thither?
+
+Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take
+almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a
+dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in
+it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest
+reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will
+infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.
+Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this
+experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical
+professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for
+ever.
+
+But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest,
+quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley
+of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his
+trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were
+within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up
+from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands
+winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in
+their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and
+though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this
+shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were
+fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June,
+when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among
+Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop
+of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel
+your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon
+suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy
+him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian
+trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a
+robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
+Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a
+mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out
+of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did
+the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely
+all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that
+story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild
+image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that
+same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image
+of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
+
+No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast,
+plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
+True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to
+spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of
+thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honor,
+particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the
+Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if
+just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been
+lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in
+awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
+schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and
+the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off
+in time.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!
+
+Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome
+exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,
+head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if
+you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the
+Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from
+the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not
+so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many
+other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But
+wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a
+merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
+voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the
+constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in
+some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And,
+doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand
+programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in
+as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive
+performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run
+something like this:
+
+“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
+“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
+
+Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the
+Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when
+others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short
+and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I
+cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the
+circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives
+which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced
+me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the
+delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill
+and discriminating judgment.
+
+Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale
+himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my
+curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island
+bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all
+the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds,
+helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things
+would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an
+everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and
+land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to
+perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let
+me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of
+the place one lodges in.
+
+By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the
+great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild
+conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into
+my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them
+all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
+
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/25.txt b/testdata/e2e/25.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab5ff3e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/25.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,128 @@
+2
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and
+seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the
+extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder
+warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water
+as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of
+them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets
+and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell
+me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all
+those ships attract them thither?
+
+No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast,
+plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
+True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to
+spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of
+thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honor,
+particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the
+Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if
+just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been
+lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in
+awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
+schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and
+the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off
+in time.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!
+
+Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome
+exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,
+head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if
+you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the
+Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from
+the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not
+so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many
+other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But
+wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a
+merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
+voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the
+constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in
+some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And,
+doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand
+programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in
+as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive
+performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run
+something like this:
+
+“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
+“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
+
+Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the
+Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when
+others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short
+and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I
+cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the
+circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives
+which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced
+me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the
+delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill
+and discriminating judgment.
+
+Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale
+himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my
+curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island
+bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all
+the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds,
+helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things
+would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an
+everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and
+land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to
+perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let
+me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of
+the place one lodges in.
+
+By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the
+great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild
+conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into
+my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them
+all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
+
diff --git a/testdata/e2e/7.txt b/testdata/e2e/7.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cfb1924
--- /dev/null
+++ b/testdata/e2e/7.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,51 @@
+0
+CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
+
+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.
+
+There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
+wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
+surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
+downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
+cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
+land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
+
+What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom
+and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed,
+I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel
+Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and
+respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t
+a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may
+order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the
+satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is
+one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or
+metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is
+passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades,
+and be content.
+
+Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of
+paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single
+penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must
+pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and
+being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable
+infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But _being
+paid_,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man
+receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly
+believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no
+account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign
+ourselves to perdition!