Zelnard couldn’t help but smile, but his mind was still half on the events of the night before. Dunstor had barged into his and Jabar’s room, as he often did, kicking the door open and yelling, “Time for sleep, baby boys!” His voice had been so loud it echoed through the corridors, waking not only Zelnard and Jabar but the boys in the neighbouring rooms as well. 

Dunstor, always a few years older than Zelnard's cohort, was to them a seemingly hulking figure of a boy whose comparatively imposing size was matched only by the mean streak that coiled within him. He stood over Zelnard and Jabar. He approached the two startled boys with a pretense of false kindness, to tuck them into their narrow beds. The reality of his actions, however, was a sadistic inversion of the comforting ritual. He had pushed the rough wool blankets down onto the sides of their wooden beds with tucking it under the mattress so far that their own body weight provided force, creating a crushing weight that made each breath a shallow, anxious struggle. The material pressed against their chest and arms so tightly they couldn’t move and were too afraid and too startled to proffer a defense which was quite unlike Zelnard...so they suffered their silent torment.

Before he turned to leave the cold, dim room, he delivered a final, cruel act typical of Dunstor. He slapped both of their faces several times starting with a tap and migrating to a stinging open hand across their faces, a stinging open palm that was calculated to humiliate and instill fear. He plastered a wide, sickeningly sweet grin across his face and in a falsetto.. “Night night, children!” he chirped, his voice dripping with mock affection of the kind the orphaned boys never really felt anyways. The words felt like a curse as he swaggered out of the room, leaving the door annoyingly ajar to let in the cold drafts and the long shadows.

The heavy silence of the room descended once more, punctuated only by the ragged breathing of the two boys. The pressure on their chests remained, a tangible presence of Dunstor's malice.

“I hate that boy,” Zelnard muttered, his voice a low, strangled whisper as he fought to draw a full breath into his restricted lungs. His small hands were clenched into fists beneath the blankets, and the sting on his cheek throbbed with impotent fury.

Jabar shifted slightly, wincing at the dull ache left by the slaps. He waited until he was certain Dunstor's heavy footsteps had faded completely down the corridor before replying.

“Me too,” he agreed, the simple words carrying the crushing weight of every past indignity, every casual cruelty, and every moment of fear and frustration they had suffered at the hands of the obnoxious, stinky bully. The scent of stale sweat and unwashed tunic seemed to linger in the air long after Dunstor had left. "He's going to pay for this one day, Z. He has to. He just has to. This time... this time was too much.” 

Why do you thing that this episode was the breaking point for the two boys? Explain in a paragraph. 

E10 Q5 Bidet?