Anti-climactic as it could be. My knee-jerk reaction was that Asimov ran out of steam and, tying up a loose end or two, simply stopped writing. I felt cheated. I felt like a chump. I felt like a drink.
Life has no grand production endings.
There is always an after. Always more problems. Always more resolutions. For example, if you put the Civil War into cheesy book form, the war started, was fought, then ended. Slaves were freed.