a cold breath of air on my forehead

Whenever I was in the station, said Austerlitz, I kept almost obsessively trying to imagine -- through the ever-changing maze of walls -- the location in that huge space of the rooms where the asylum inmates were confined, and I often wondered whether the pain and suffering accumulated on this site over the centuries had ever really ebbed away, or whether they might not still, as I sometimes thought when I felt a cold breath of air on my forehead, be sensed as we pass through them on our way through the station halls and up and down the flights of steps.

Austerlitz, W G Sebald