That was all I had left: the rest of what's here is all scene bits. And I think the scene bits can stay, because they're character resolution.
I have 1110 pages of novel, without cheating by counting notes. And I have almost nothing left to write, it turns out. Just a few scenes, two big setpieces, and some connective tissue. Oh, and some stuff to fix on the redraft.
Well, paint me blue and call me Ethel. It turns out, I think, that I need exactly five more scenes--one to resolve each of three external and two internal conflicts--and some beveling around the edges to get the bits I've already got written in shape. I seem to have overcomplicated things.
(Somewhere out there, somebody is saying, "Is this a normal way to write a book? All this whining and fiddling and twisting in one's chair and accomplishing nothing, and then surprising oneself?" Er. Yes. It's rather a cut to suit, hammer to fit, paint to match sort of operation, with a lot of sanding and strapping and running reinforcing cables under the decking so it doesn't spring a leak when you float it.)
Oh god. This could really be nearly over.