Read it through once

Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a stately figure entered between the newsboards of the _Weekly Freeman and National Press_ and the _Freeman’s Journal and National Press_. Dullthudding Guinness’s barrels. It passed statelily up the staircase, steered by an umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. All his brains are in the nape of his neck, Simon Dedalus says. Welts of flesh behind on him. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck.