Yes, he could certainly feel it coming on.

Poppy's face was growing bigger and bigger, opening out and blossoming like an enormous flower.
"Nine minutes up.

In another minute you go." It seemed to him that Poppy was measuring time by pouring champagne into little tumblers, and that she gave him champagne to drink.

He knew it was no use drinking it, for that thirst of his was unquenchable; but he drank, for the sake of the illusion; and as he drank it seemed to him that not only was Poppy worthy of all adoration, but that his passion for her was no mere vulgar and earthly passion; it was a glorious and immortal thing.
Poppy looked at him curiously.

She was the soul of hospitality, but it struck her that she was being a little too liberal with the champagne.
"No, Razors.