Whoever puts in the last piece of a jigsaw gets the small cheer, and it is the least deserving moment of the whole evening. By then there is one hole and one piece, and nothing left to decide. The hard part happened hours earlier, in the grey sky, where somebody tried the same three shapes in forty places and was right once, and nobody looked up. Every piece would have been the last piece in some other order of doing it; this one was simply what remained. Which may be why, near the end, a piece sometimes goes quietly missing, and turns up later in somebody’s pocket.