By mere touch, Sheldon could ascertain that the dying man's temperature was going down.

It must have been going down when the thermometer registered one hundred and seven.

He had burned out.

Sheldon knelt beside him, the house-boys grouped around, their white singlets and loin-cloths peculiarly at variance with their dark skins and savage countenances, their huge ear-plugs and carved and glistening nose-rings.
Sheldon tottered to his feet at last, and half-fell into the steamer-chair.

Oppressive as the heat had been, it was now even more oppressive.