My heart is all untamed for evermore; The strings hang loose and warp'd for evermore; The rocks resound not with my olden songs, Nor melt in echoes on the trancèd breeze; The streams flow on to music all their own; The magic of my lyre hath pass'd away, For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music from its chords; For thou art pass'd away, Eurydice; Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice; And there is nought to guide the erring tones

She didn't believe there was another such tuner in the United States.

She'd been talking about the piano tuner with what struck him as a surprisingly confident understanding.