Reason for stopping: Can't see straight, and I got as far as I knew what to write.
It's going to be slow going. I can see that: there's a google in every paragraph. (What's the recipe for irongall ink?)
Must find out what Richard Burbage's friends called him. God damn it, I hate historical writing. But I have to admit, the frustrated English major in me rather enjoyed writing this:
"I would not hazard myself to hazard a guess," Burbage replied, hooking a bootheel over a rung of the stool. "What are you working on?"
"Still? The plague will have the playhouses closed into winter, Will. Mark my words. And it's a terrible story."