Gracie doesn’t move. At all. She’s been waiting for him to ask her out for at least a month, probably longer, and Jones knows it. Or, he should have. He should’ve spent every second he had with her even if none of this is real. Shakespeare thought we’re nothing more than actors, and maybe that should’ve been enough. Why couldn’t it be enough for Jones? Maybe because actors know they’re playing parts written for them . . .
