Some writers won't let a story be over. They burden the conclusion with meandering afterthoughts, Victorian epilogues, explanations. Some of them have even gotten away with it.

Detective fiction, particularly the older, British kind with butlers, used to be particularly subject to talky, expositional endings after the real issues had been settled. Once the murderer had been named and officially led away, or had decently committed suicide in the drawing room, everybody sat around for maybe a dozen pages while all the loose threads were methodically knotted up and the improbabilities rationalized. Sometimes that required the detective to tell practically the whole story all over from the beginning. And everything drifted into anticlimax. But that was an accepted convention at one time, though it's little used now.

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