Sentences v fragments, and the grandeur of William Trevor's style

A few final thoughts on finishing William Trevor's great "Selected Stories": first, Trevor's sense of an ending deepens in the last (most recent) stories in the collection. Many of his stories are told in short sections, and some alternate between the POV of two or more characters. Most writers take a good deal of time crafting the final sentence or passage in their stories, and Trevor in particular always ends his stories with a beautiful, often haunting, final note of grace. In the last stories in the collection I started to realize that toward the end of the story almost any sentence - or at least the closing sentence of almost any one of the sections - could have been the concluding note; it's as if Trevor's entire voice has become magisterial and masterly. One of the stories (Faith), which is no doubt one of the best in the collection, breaks a pattern in its closing sentence: It's not really a sentence, just a fragment. So many, too many, contemporary writers rely on fragments to build their stories, to give a sense of a jaunty pace and, perhaps, of the disjunctions and missed connections in contemporary life. The result too often is a series of lists, observations. Writing a sentence takes more thought and consideration; when we write a sentence we examine the interactions and relations within our world - someone does or is something. Trevor almost never uses fragments - that in part accounts for the grandeur of his stle - but Faith, about a minister whose life has been dominated by his sister, and he gradually loses his faith, ends in a fragment. Why? A final note: the last story in the collection, Follie-a-deux, about a horrible action to boys committed in their childhood and how it affects their lives, recalls a great story by Trevor's only counterpart, Alice Munro, and another well-known story by A.S. Byatt. What draws older, fully accomplished writers to this frightful theme?